


Quarantine Fic, Because I am Nothing if Not a Sheep

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: COVID-19, Coronavirus, Crack, Don't spend time with your family folks, Dysfunctional Family, Everyone is slowly going insane, Face Masks, Family Bonding, Gen, I'm going crazy, Illness, Jason likes to bake, Legit though please don't read this just let me die in peace okay, Quarantine, That's write!!!! I wrote a crack fic!!!! What the fuck!!!!!!, Tim Drake Has No Spleen, Tim Drake's Terrible Immune System, Why Did I Write This?, it's great, no fucking idea, this is so stupid, what a loser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: A Batfamily quarantine fic. I'm so sorry.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 599





	Quarantine Fic, Because I am Nothing if Not a Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> This was edited a grand total of zero times. Yep, THAT'S where we're at fellas. That's how much I've lost my mind in quarantine. Also my laptop is dying so GOTTA POST THIS QUICK BECAUSE I'M TOO LAZY TO GO UPSTAIRS AND GET THE CHARGER.

Dick flops over the back of the couch in the manor’s living room, looking down at where Duke sits cross-legged on the floor. “I’m bored.”    
  
Duke doesn’t tear his focus from the toilet paper pyramid he’s been steadily building for the past fifteen minutes. “You said that ten minutes ago.”   
  
“So? It’s still true.”    
  
Duke merely hums, already fading out of the conversation.   
  
Dick kicks his feet where they hang over the back of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. A chandelier hangs, sparkling in the light from the windows. Briefly, Dick considers leaving Duke to his toilet paper and letting his own monkey instincts take over, but Alfred is still mourning their old dining room light fixture.    
  
He slides down the couch until he is close enough to drape his arms over Duke’s shoulders. “I’m boreddddddd,” he whines.

“Why can’t you go play with Tim? I’m sure he’s building a rocket or something in his room.”

“Can’t. Cass won’t let anyone within ten feet of him.”   
  
“That’s kind of extreme.”   
  
“To be fair, I think missing a spleen is a good excuse for special treatment.”   
  
“I’m pretty sure I saw Damian running around with Titus.”   
  
Dick slides further down the couch so that most of his weight rests on Duke. “Why do you hate meeeee?”   
  
“Can’t you see that this pyramid is all I have to live for right now? And watching you go stir-crazy stopped being entertaining a week ago.”   
  
Dick pauses thoughtfully. “Wanna fight?”   
  
“No.”    
  
“Why not?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“That wasn’t a—”   
  
“No.”    
  
Dick sighs. “You wound me. I’m bleeding out all over Alfred’s fancy rug. I’m going to die here and it’ll be all your fault.”   
  
Mm-hm. Pass me that package over there?” Duke motions to the twelve-pack of toilet paper on the floor beside the couch.   
  
Dick sighs.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Would it kill you to stop moving?” Stephanie dips the brush back into the jar of nail polish, wiping the excess on the edge. “I swear, you’re more fidgety than Cass in handcuffs.”   
  
“It’ll cost you zero dollars to give me my hand back,” Jason says.   
  
“Sorry, but I’m gonna have to decline.” Steph’s tongue prods the corner of her mouth as she swipes a good coating of red nail polish on Jason’s thumbnail. “‘Sides, you’re not doing anything important.”   
  
Jason wags his book in her face. “Hello? In what universe is plowing through Jane Austen’s entire literary career not important?”    
  
“Since forever.”   
  
“I will throw you out of this house.”   
  
Steph snorts. “Good luck with that.” She starts on the next hand, ignoring Jason’s twitching. “I really wish you’d let me work on your cuticles because they are  _ nasty _ . Did you dig through concrete or something?”   
  
“No, I clawed myself out of a wooden coffin.”   
  
“Like I said. Nasty.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
When the Justice League suggested that Batman and all other non-meta heroes take a break from crime-fighting until the pandemic blows over, Bruce would be a liar if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the time off. For the first time in years, he could relax. Give his body a well-deserved rest. Maybe take a page out of Jason’s book and finally work through that To Be Read pile in the library (pun intended).   
  
If Bruce had known at the time that “taking a break” actually meant being trapped at home for weeks on end with no one but his six children and Stephanie Brown for company, he never would have accepted.   
  
“Damian. Honey. My beautiful youngest child.  _ Please  _ get off of your brother.”   
  
“He needs to be cleansed!”   
  
“I think if a germ tried to touch him now it would die on impact. Now get up before I call Alfred.”    
  
Reluctantly, Damian rolls off of Duke who coughs through a cloud of Lysol fumes. “Jesus Christ, I can taste it on my  _ tonsils.”  _   
  
Damian lets loose a growl that sounds eerily like Titus when someone takes away his peanut butter treats. “I suggest we lock him in the basement until further notice, Father.”   
  
“I was just petting the cat!”   
  
“Without the proper protective gear!”   
  
“He’s a cat! Cats can’t get the virus!”   
  
Damian lunges, but Bruce wraps an arm around the boy’s middle and yanks him back. “Can’t you save the fighting for  _ after  _ I’ve had my coffee?”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Dick yawns, scratching his side. As restless as he’s been all cooped up inside the manor for the past two weeks, there is no denying the luxury of a good nap. Though he undoubtedly screwed up his entire sleep schedule by sleeping until three in the morning, but that is a problem for Future Dick.    
  
He wanders into the kitchen and flicks on the light switch, only to pause right there in the doorway. “What the fuck?”   
  
Baked goods litter every inch of the kitchen.  _ Literally.  _ There are cookies spread out on the stovetop and trays of biscotti lining the counter. An army of frosted cupcakes stands threateningly on the kitchen island, and homemade donuts hang from the ceiling like aerialists in one of Steph’s fantasies.   
  
In front of the flour-sprinkled counter stands Jason—in a  _ pink apron _ of all things.   
  
Dick steps forward, surveying the area. “Uh, Jay? What are you doing?”   
  
Jason whisks something in a bowl. “What does it look like I’m doing, dickhead? I’m baking.”   
  
Dick eyes a plate of rainbow macaroons. “I can see that.” He takes in the circles under Jason’s eyes; the caramel smeared across his cheek. “How long have you been in here?”   
  
“Since noon.”   
  
_ “Why?”  _   
  
Jason shrugs. “One minute I was looking through lemon curd recipes on Pinterest, then I think I blacked out for a while because suddenly it was midnight and I was on my third batch of cream puffs.” The oven dinged. “Oh, can you get that? My soufflé is done.”   
  
Dick licks lemon curd from his thumb. “Who’s going to eat all of this?”   
  
“It’s a full house. I’m sure we’ll manage.”   
  
At that moment Tim walks in, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like an old Russian lady’s shawl and trailing on the floor behind him. He gives his brothers hardly a glance as he grabs a clean trash bag and starts throwing food into it.    
  
“Hey, Timmy,” Dick says through a mouthful of éclair.    
  
“Howdy.” Tim reaches for a plate of brownies, only for Jason to grab his wrist.    
  
“Careful, idiot. There’s walnuts in there.” He gestures to the very well-made sign taped to the plate:  _ Danger! Nuts! If Tim Eats This He Will Die! _   
  
Tim blinks owlishly, eyes bloodshot to the point where Dick wonders if he is even awake enough for huma conversation. “Is it, like...a lot?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
Tim considers the threat for a moment more before dumping the plate into his bag. “I’ll take my chances.” He takes a couple more piles of food, plus a cupcake for the road that he shoves into his mouth before hauling the bag over his shoulder and leaving the way he came.    
  
Dick goes to follow him because Jesus  _ Christ,  _ does he  _ want  _ his throat to swell shut again? But Jason calmly grabs him by the shoulder. “He’ll be fine, he’s got an epipen in his room.”   
  
“He used it up last week when he got stung by that wasp.”   
  
“Oh.” Jason steps away and goes back to stirring his...are those rice krispie treats? “Then yeah, you should probably go make sure he’s still alive.”    
  
  


* * *

  
  
“All right, I’ll admit it,” Bruce says. “This is pretty nice.” He should have taken Dick’s advice and done a spa day  _ years  _ ago. He feels the decades of violence shedding off his aura like a second skin.    
  
“It’s itchy,” Damian says. He picks at his face mask, only for Dick to smack his hand away.   
  
“Don’t touch it,” he scolds. “Just let the clay do its job.” He settles back into his spot between Damian and Stephanie on the sofa and closes his eyes.   
  
“I still don’t see what the point of this is,” Damian says.   
  
Steph rolls her eyes. “I swear, it’s like you all grew up in a cave.”    
  
“To be fair, we kind of did,” Tim replies from across the room where he is stretched out across the entire length of the other sofa. At least, the entire length that his small body can fit on. There is at least a good foot of sofa left, but nobody dares take the free spot.    
  
“That’s no excuse for poor hygiene.” She points at Bruce. “Especially you, oldie. How the hell everyone on the planet still sees you as a sex symbol, I will never know.”   
  
Jason presses his socked toes against Bruce’s leg from where he lies on the carpet, head in Cass’ lap and legs thrown over Duke’s just close enough so he can kick Bruce’s armchair whenever he pleases. “I have a theory that it’s because of all the cowl sweat. It’s got magical skincare properties.”   
  
Duke gags. “That’s disgusting.”   
  
Jason shrugs and takes a swig of beer. Tim grimaces. “It’s that kind of insensitive?”   
  
Jason arches an eyebrow—an impressive feat, considering the hardened clay mask on his face. “Excuse me?”   
  
“You’re drinking a Corona.”   
  
“So? Shut up and eat your guacamole, Mr. I-Can’t-Hang-Out-With-My-Own-Family-Because-I-Have-The-Immune-System-Of-A-Hundred-And-Five-Year-Old.”   
  
Cass smacks him in the head. “Be nice.”   
  
“I agree,” Alfred says from where he reclines in his own armchair. He, like everyone else in the room, also wears a face mask.    
  
“I knew you’d always support me, Alfred,” Tim says, “and that’s why you’ll always be my favorite.”   
  
“Well of course,” Alfred replies. “Comparing your immune system to that of a hundred-and-five-year-old would be an insult to old people.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry you had to see this. Tell me in the comments how y'all are doing in quarantine because I need INTERACTION.
> 
> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
